


Bad Timing

by BreakfastTea



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Embarrassment, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Prompto's here briefly, Sick Noctis Lucis Caelum, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-14 14:16:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18949837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakfastTea/pseuds/BreakfastTea
Summary: All Noctis has to do is give a speech....well, give a speech and *not* throw up...He can totally do it......Right?





	Bad Timing

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic Friday #10 is here! Hope you enjoy, anon!
> 
> (I cringed A LOT while writing this ^^;)
> 
> Oh oh oh and I totally have a headcanon that Prompto, due to his origins, has the best immune system and is one of those people who gets sick once every five years. I kinda like the idea that even though he's the one who always dies the most in game (or is that just me?) his immune system is practically unbeatable.

When Noctis woke up that morning, stomach swirling, he knew it was only a matter of time. Bad things were going to happen.

Why, today of all days, did he have to get sick?

He stared at his haggard face in the mirror. Okay. He could do this. It was simple. Get through the speech. He just had to get through the speech. He could do this. Had to do this. Couldn’t shirk his duties. Deep breaths. Careful movement. Nothing too fast. Just stand, speak, and then he could be as sick as his body wanted to be.

Half an hour. That was all he needed. Just another thirty minutes. He could do that. He could totally, totally handle this.

Yeah.

“You needn’t look so nervous,” Ignis said as Noctis left his bedroom. “This is hardly the first speech you’ve given.”

Noctis knew that. And he wasn’t nervous. He was just really close to throwing up. Everywhere. Over everything. The bug that had been going around his class had found its newest victim. Even the class teacher hadn’t escaped the bug’s grip. Prompto had, but he seemed immune to most of everything that went around class. Probably all that running he did in the fresh air early in the morning.

…yeah, even immunity from illness was not worth getting up that early…

Noctis just had to survive one speech. And then he could sneak off, throw up, and make his way back to his seat so no one knew he’d ever been gone. Founder’s Day was one of the city’s biggest festivals. He had to be seen at least once before pleading illness. And he had to give the speech. He’d worked so hard on it. He wanted to remind people their city was a place where people should unite and stand together.

Ignis kept talking about poise and pacing and other stuff as Noctis dutifully followed him through the Citadel’s corridors until they reached one of the larger public forums. The room was packed out with visiting dignitaries, government officials and specially selected members of the press. Dad waited for him, smiling as Noctis stepped up to the edge of the stage, just out of the audience’s sight.

“Good morning, son,” Regis said, always more formal when they were near the public.

“Good morning,” Noctis said.

“Ready?” Regis asked.

As he’d ever be. Noctis nodded. The lights went down, a guard clad in formal Lucian garb stepped up to announce Noctis’ arrival, and then he stepped out onto the stage to a smattering of polite applause.

He stood at the podium, body rigid, stomach gurgling dangerously, sweat peppering his whole body under the burning glare of the lights.

He had to do this. He couldn’t let Dad down. The speech would be given, he would walk off stage and then sprint to the nearest bathroom.

Alright. He could do it.

And he did. Noctis spoke calmly, delivering the speech exactly as he’d been taught to do, the same way he’d given speeches before. Ignis was right about that; this was hardly his first speech. It wasn’t even the most important he’d given. But it was definitely the first (and hopefully last) he’d given on the cusp of illness.

He reached the end. And as he opened his mouth to thank everyone for coming, he threw up.

Everywhere.

Projectile.

In front of an audience.

And then just to top it all off?

He collapsed, too dizzy to stay on his feet.

A gasp went out from the crowd. People rushed forwards to help him, hands grabbing, guiding, leading him on wobbling legs off stage. His stomach gave another lurch and he threw up again, this time all over the poor person helping him walk.

“Oh, Noct. You can tell us if you’re ill. I should’ve known you weren’t nervous.”

Ah. Ignis. He’d vomited over Ignis. Noctis hadn’t even realised who it was. That was how out of it he was.

Everything remained a blur until Noctis found himself in a bathroom. It wasn’t his private one, but the nearest one Ignis could find. Ignis who patiently helped Noctis out of his suit and into a shower before doing the same himself.

Except only Noctis threw up again. He slumped against the wall, exhausted. How much more could his stomach have to get rid of?

A lot, it turned out. For the rest of the day, Noctis threw up until the only thing he had left was froth. Curled up in his bed, stomach cramping, he held himself as still as possible, trying not to anger his unsettled gut. He didn’t want to move again _ever_. Not if it would make him sick.

There came a knock on his bedroom doors. Noctis didn’t have the energy to call out. He didn’t need to. Ignis came in anyway, carrying a water jug and a clean glass. “Your father sends his best wishes,” Ignis said. “But he cannot –”

Risk further exposure to germs. Noctis knew. It was bad enough Dad had been there this morning. If he caught this, if anyone caught this off Noctis, the guilt would eat him up. He didn’t remember the last time he felt this rough.

“Don’t get too close,” Noctis said, voice hoarse from all the throwing up he’d done.

“I imagine I’ve already been exposed to the germs,” Ignis said, setting the water jug down. “We’ll have to see if my immune system can hold it all at bay.”

Noctis really wished his immune system had put up a better fight. Then maybe he wouldn’t have embarrassed himself quite so spectacularly. “I can’t believe I threw up at the end of the speech.”

“Try not to focus on that,” Ignis said. “You can’t help being unwell.”

“But everyone saw,” Noctis moaned. Literally everyone – in the room, and anywhere near a screen tuned to the right news channels. School was going to suck when he went back. Maybe he would finally accept the private tutoring the council wanted him to have. But only if he could convince Prompto to join him…

“Everyone will understand,” Ignis said. “They were all quite worried.”

Noctis snorted. Ignis was way too optimistic. “I’m never, ever gonna live it down.”

Two days later, when he was well enough to return to school, Noctis discovered just how prophetic his words were. Because it started with a simple “Dude, that must’ve sucked” from Prompto and got a lot worse from there. People stared more than ever, whispered louder, and in some cases, made sure they shouted their comments.

_Better keep your distance unless you want a royal shower!_

_Can you imagine being that crap at your job? How hard can it be? Stand, speak, and don’t puke everywhere._

_Lamest prince ever. No way would his dad or any of the others do something as cringy as chundering in public!_

_He’s gonna be king someday? Embarrassing!_

_Can you imagine throwing up like that for the whole world to see?_

_You think he could hold it in a bit longer._

_Did you see the news the day it happened? They had a video of it!_

_Who needs a video when you’ve got gifs?_

Because of course there were gifs of one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.

Gifs that weren’t limited to phones and laptops. They were still playing out on the city’s scrolling news screens. Noctis shrank into his seat in the back of the car, willing himself to disappear. Some of the crappier sections of the city’s press once again questioned his ability to rule given that he _couldn’t even manage to control his own body. It seems yet again that the palace’s insistence that the prince suffered no long-term health consequences from the attack he suffered as a child are nothing more than empty lies. When King Regis passes, what kind of leader will we have in his son? Evidence suggests he’ll be far weaker. Perhaps we should open surrender talks with Niflheim today!_

He’d thrown up in public and now people thought he’d never be good enough to be king? And they just had to dig up the accident, like he hadn’t spent the past seven years dealing with the fallout from that… Anger scorched him. He knew freedom of the press was important, but he also wished the Citadel’s media office would shut this down.

Except he couldn’t even escape the chuckles and pointed looks at the Citadel either. Crownsguard, Kingsglaive and even the household staff hurried by, only for their laughter to echo behind them. Noctis went to his rooms and decided to lock the door. He’d never wished so hard that he didn’t have to live in the Citadel anymore, but the search for the right apartment in the city was ongoing.

He was absolutely done with every other member of the human race right now. He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone for as long as possible.

Noctis dropped his school bag, went through to his bedroom and collapsed face first into bed. Why hadn’t he just said to someone he felt too sick to give that speech? Disappointing people would’ve been so much better than this. He could imagine those headlines too… actually, they’d probably be the exact same as the ones he read now, just without the humiliating images of him throwing up.

There came a knock on the door. “Noct? May I come in?”

Noctis sucked in a breath. He really wasn’t in the mood to talk to Ignis.

Ignis, who tried the door and found it locked. “Noct? Is everything alright?”

Honestly, what would it take for him to have time for himself? He pushed himself up. “I’m fine, Ignis.”

“Then would you open the door?” Ignis called back.

Noctis struggled not to groan aloud. He just needed one evening on his own to get his head back together. To push away all the bullshit other people threw at him and remember how it felt to ignore it all like they didn’t exist.

“I’ll find a key if I have to,” Ignis threatened.

He would too. Noctis stomped to the door, unlocked it, and opened it enough to peer out into the hall. “What?”

“I bumped into Gladio. You have training, if you feel up to it,” Ignis said.

Actually, hitting things sounded really great. Really, really great. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Ignis nodded and walked away.

As promised, five minutes later Noctis entered the training room. One hour later, Gladio stared at several destroyed training dummies.

“Whoa,” he said. “You should get pissed off more often. Never seen you so focused.” He kicked a dummy aside. “Or so lethal.”

Breathing hard, Noctis dropped his training sword. Turned out going hard after puking his guts up and not quite feeling well enough yet to eat properly was a good way to see spots floating through your eyes. He bent double before he could embarrass himself again and pass out.

“Feel better?” Gladio asked.

“Sure.” Because pretending that every dummy were the people mocking him helped. Except then he’d have to go back to school tomorrow and listen to it all over again. He lashed out with his foot, catching a dummy and sending it flying across the room.

“You can’t let other people’s words get to you so much,” Gladio said. “Someday you’re gonna be king, and every decision you make will be scrutinised, debated and torn to pieces by the press.”

“I know that.” And he did. But the thought of those pictures of him throwing up in every newspaper, seen by everyone he knew, were just…

“And you’ll probably do something more embarrassing than throw up all over a stage,” Gladio said. He laughed. “You haven’t even started drinking yet. Just wait ‘til you’re spotted drunk for the first time and –”

And Noctis resolved to never, ever drink. Ever.

(At least not in public.)

“The attention will die down, don’t worry. You just gotta hold your head high and own it.”

“Own it?”

Gladio shrugged. “What can you do? You were sick. A lot. All over everything –”

“I know, I was there,” Noctis interrupted.

“Accept it and move on. What, you think all the people laughing at you never had something cringe-worthy happen to them?”

“They didn’t have to do it on TV,” Noctis said. He could feel his cheeks burning, and it wasn’t from the exercise. Everyone had laughed at him today. And those who hadn’t gave him such pitying looks they were almost worse than all the chuckling and pointing.

“Lucky them. You did, and that’s that. If people are shitty about it, let them be. Like they have a clue. They can all be secretly glad that one time it came out of both ends at once they did it in the privacy of their own bed.”

Noctis snorted. “Thanks for the mental images,” he said. “I’m scarred for life.”

Gladio nudged him. “What I’m saying is accept it for what it is and move on. You’re a public figure. This stuff’s bound to happen at least once in your life.”

“No, only once,” Noctis said. Next time, he’d just send his apologise and be sick in private like normal people.

“Fine, once. What I’m saying is –”

“Get over it,” Noctis said.

“Exactly,” Gladio said.

Noctis sighed. “Can I come back and trash some more dummies if tomorrow’s as crap as today?”

“It might technically be an abuse of power, but sure, go for it,” Gladio said.

(And if the Kingsglaive had to order twenty new training dummies a week later, nobody said a thing to anyone else.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! See you all next week! Until then I'm on [Tumblr](http://breakfastteatime.tumblr.com/) :D


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